


Post Tenebras Lux

by ronsenburg



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Kind of Sad but Ends Happy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Game(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsenburg/pseuds/ronsenburg
Summary: “Here,” Prompto says, and places something soft and square into the palm of Ignis’s hand. He runs his thumb across the surface, feeling the fibers of fine velvet give way to a small metal hinge. It's a box.“What’s this?” he asks rather obtusely, attempting to ignore the way his heart has begun to pound within his chest.Or, a promnis marriage proposal.





	Post Tenebras Lux

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Post Tenebras Lux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14149668) by [Yuusana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuusana/pseuds/Yuusana)



They rebuild slowly, one ruined structure at a time under the light of the recently revealed sun.

After ten years, Ignis finds it difficult to readjust to the cyclical nature of day and night. He can, of course, detect a slight change in the levels of the light and the sensation of warmth glancing off the skin of his cheeks when he steps out into the afternoon, but his body clings stubbornly to routines developed in the dark. He wakes at odd hours, stumbling over Prompto’s prone form in their shared bed as though spurred on by sudden bolts of productivity, only to fall asleep again with his head cradled against the back of a stiff armchair long before lunch. He’ll wake sometimes later with one of Gladio’s leather jackets draped across his chest, uncertain just how much time has passed.

Time had ceased to have much meaning for all during the years of darkness; only Ignis seems to be left behind in that eternal limbo even now.

They are given rooms in what remains of the citadel, hastily built to accommodate those important personnel who might lead the shattered world back to greatness. They feel oddly sterile to Ignis; after so many years of makeshift campsites and nearly decrepit trailers, the newness is off-putting. He much prefers the small apartment he and Prompto left behind in Lestallum, constantly filled with the sounds and smells of neighbors pressing down on them from all sides, strangely comforting and warm in a time where the sun had long since disappeared. There is no time for traveling back and forth between the capital and Lestallum now, however. He and Gladio are some of the few remaining members of the nobility and for that, he supposes, they have been graced with an influx of responsibilities. Ignis is unsure what part titles can play in this new world they have been asked to design, but he takes on each task gladly, grateful for the distraction it provides.

He finds, however, that there is little of his old expertise to be found in whatever role they have come to expect of him. Gone are the days of subtly directing a reluctant young man through the various pitfalls of diplomacy and into the position of king. There are no kings now, only a collection of broken and scattered souls desperately needing a return to order. Ignis moves from public hearings to construction sites to overcrowded cities, a diplomatic smile in place as he meets with everyone from the generals of crumbled foreign armies to a small, shy boy from a Niflheim refugee camp. Ignis gives his best reassuring smile as they are introduced, but it is Prompto who crouches down, handing over his camera for the boy to fiddle with while they talk. He sounds like Ignis imagines Prompto had once looked; lonely and unsure. Ignis listens to him describe his desires for his new house, his heart breaking over and over again at the thought that, for children like this, a life of darkness and terror was all they had ever known.

And so things come together slowly, teams of volunteers lead by Prompto and Talcott clearing away one crumbled concrete block at a time, until the streets are once again open enough to allow the passage of cars, until they are able to begin the process of planning the new city that will rise from the ashes of Insomnia and, by extension, the line of Lucis.

Ignis spends his days and his nights head bent in study over a long table in one of the great halls, hands smoothing repeatedly over a proposed blueprint. City planning is far from his typical repertoire; attempting to turn the multitude of raised lines under the pads of his fingers into a coherent, three-dimensional image in his head a task that leaves him exhausted, frustrated at his own limits, and fighting back the panicked voice that reminds him how ill-prepared he had been for what would come after, that living this long had never been the plan.

“It’s four in the morning,” Prompto yawns when he finds Ignis still working early into the morning, completely oblivious to the passage of time once again. He places a hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “Can we leave now?”

Ignis nods, abashed, and allows Prompto to lead him outside to where the car is parked.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep on the drive back, but the steady motion of the car speeding along the recently cleared streets lulls him. Prompto hums softly from the driver’s seat, and Ignis finds his thoughts heavy with the sleep he has been putting off for too long. He rests his head against the cool glass of the passenger window and allows sleep to take him.

When he wakes, the car is stopped and silent.

Despite the recent months of sunshine and quiet dawns, Ignis still finds himself startling awake at the smallest disturbances, fingers reaching for weapons that are no longer there against an attack that will no longer come. He wills himself calm, listening for the sound of Prompto shifting in the driver’s seat, waiting for the gentle rhythm of his breathing to reach Ignis’s ears. “Prompto?” he asks cautiously, and he can hear Prompto startle from across the car.

“Sorry,” Prompto answers after a moment, “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was,” Ignis agrees and exhales the breath he had been holding slowly. He had fallen asleep with his visor on, the plastic pads of the bridge pressed uncomfortably against his nose. He reaches up to remove them, running his other hand across his remaining eye. “Have we left the city already?”

There is a beat of silence, as though Prompto is considering how to reply, and Ignis frowns gently, turning his face further in Prompto’s direction.

“No. It’s, uh, Noct’s old apartment,” Prompto says finally, his tone almost guilty. “Used to be. There isn’t much left.”

A soft noise escapes Ignis’s lips, caught in indecision somewhere between genuine surprise and sudden, inescapable pain. “Ah,” is all he says, his face turning instinctively away and out the window. To say he had been avoiding the place and the memories that accompany it would not be entirely accurate, but he certainly hadn’t requested that they make the trip. He had worried that standing so close to the ruins of a place so full of Noctis would leave him feeling only bitter and empty at just how much they had all lost. And there is sadness, to be sure, but there is also the warm rush of memories. Of nights spent crowded onto a couch with a bowl of atrociously microwaved popcorn, ignoring duties in favor of a rented horror film and, in Gladio and Noctis’ case, video games. He remembers an endless procession of pastries in and out of the oven, each tasted with the discerning bite of an expert, only to be politely rejected with a comment of ‘too sweet’ or ‘not flakey enough’. It feels like a lifetime ago. “It’s been quite some time since we were last there.”

Prompto makes a noise of acknowledgment somewhere in the back of his throat. “Yeah. I was thinking about the first time he invited me over. I was super nervous.”

Ignis smiles gently. The specific memories have begun to fade, one by one retreating into the soft gray that serves as his vision now, but he can still remember a young Prompto hesitating in the entryway of Noctis’s apartment, teeth biting at his bottom lip in nerves as he surveyed the room. He had been so young then. “I recall. You looked ready to faint from the moment he opened the door.”

“You didn’t make it any easier, you know. Glaring at me from the sink like I killed your cat or something. ”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

“Well, yeah. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there.”

“Is that so?” Ignis asks, quirking his undamaged eyebrow in Prompto’s direction. “I don’t think I said a word to you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Prompto laughs, “Noct made fun of me for months.”

Silence stretches across the front seat of the car. Ignis turns his face back to the window, wondering what the landscape looks like. Is the streetlight that he had often idled under, waiting for the Prince to emerge, still standing? Are there any trees left in the park that was just visible beyond the windows of the apartment, or had the lack of light rendered them lost as well? Ignis tries to recall the way the street had sounded, the way people had milled around the entrance, the way cars had honked, the way life had been lived before.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Prompto asks suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. Ignis can hear the nerves that have crept into his voice, punctuated by the jangle of the bracelets circling Prompto’s wrist that he fiddles with now.

“Of course.”

“Okay. We should-” he breaks off, cutting the ignition of the car suddenly and fumbling with his seatbelt. “We should get out of the car first.”

Ignis follows suit, hesitating when his feet hit the pavement of the road outside.

“Prompto?”

“Oh man. Just humor me for a second, okay?”

He can hear Prompto moving around the back of the car to the passenger’s seat, the sound of the glove compartment popping open and the distant sound of shuffling within.

“This definitely wasn’t how I planned this,” Prompto says, and Ignis can hear a sound that could be fingers running through already disheveled hair.  “Here,” he says, and places something soft and square into the palm of Ignis’s hand. He runs his thumb across the surface, feeling the fibers of fine velvet give way to a small metal hinge.

It’s a box.

“What’s this?” he asks rather obtusely, attempting to ignore the way his heart has begun to pound within his chest.

“The question?” Prompto replies, the words lilting up at the end with uncertainty and then adds, “Why are you frowning?”

“I wasn’t aware this was something you wanted.”

“Well, yeah, there hasn’t been a whole lot of time to talk about it,” Prompto says, laughing a little awkwardly as he speaks. Ignis remembers the way he used to drag his fingers across the back of his neck when he spoke like this. He wonders if it’s still a habit he retains now. “But if we’re going to do this ‘brand new world’ thing, I want to do it right. I want to do it with you.”

For a moment, there is only the sound of Ignis’s heart beating far too loudly.

There was a time when he had imagined this.

Lying in a small bed in the middle of Lestallum, running his fingers over Prompto’s bare back and trying to feel for the freckles he knew had once resided there, he had dreamed of what life might have been like had fate not called for them. Perhaps Prompto would have come to live with him eventually, slowly moving his things into Ignis’s rooms, one small article of clothing at a time, because ‘ _it’s closer to the citadel than my place, you know? Kind of stupid to go all the way home just to change_ ’. They would wake to the feeling of soft, early sunlight streaming through the curtains in the bedroom, slowly warming the surface of the wooden floors so that when Prompto stumbled out of bed and into the shower, his complaints about the lack of warmth would be half-hearted, at best. Ignis would make coffee, the sound of Ebony grinding almost obscuring the soft sound of Prompto singing in the shower. Later, they would sit out on the balcony, drinking coffee and eating whatever horrible, fried pastries Prompto had brought home the day before, listening to the sound of birds chirping and children laughing from somewhere below before they headed to meet Gladio and Noctis later on in the day.

In the end, those had been nothing but dreams, silly fantasies to make the long night seem more bearable. Back then, a future was something he could not plan for. The return of Noctis and the final battle for the good of Eos had hung somewhere just above their heads at all times, the inevitability of its outcome rendering any hopes futile.

But they had lived.

Noctis had  _died_  so they could live.

And now?

Ignis’s fingernail catches the small metal clasp at the front of the box, pushing at it lightly until it gives way and the box falls open in his hands. His fingers find the ring nestled in a cushion of what appears to be silk.

The metal is cold against his fingers, a perfectly round circle polished so smooth that it feels odd against his now rough fingers. It appears to be simple in design, one continuous, solid piece of metal without any unnecessary adornments. There is something engraved on the inside, but the writing is small enough that Ignis cannot seem to make it out by touch alone. He turns it repeatedly in his fingers.

“Is it something you want?” Prompto asks quietly when Ignis doesn’t answer, “Because we can pretend this never happened if you don’t. I don’t mind.”

“What does it say?” Ignis asks instead of answering.

“Oh. Uh,” He stutters, apparently caught off guard. “ _Post tenebras lux_.”

Ignis blinks. “After darkness, light?”

“Kind of silly, huh?” Prompto gives his self-deprecating laugh again, “I saw it on a mural the day we left. But I thought… I thought it was good to remember.”

“He would’ve liked that,” Ignis responds, his fingers still running over the pressed letters as he continues to turn the metal over.

“Yeah,” Prompto replies, and Ignis can hear his soft smile, “I was kind of hoping you’d like it too.”

In the distance, a chorus of birds begins to sing, oblivious to the fact that just months before the buildings they have roosted in now had been infested with demons of the long night.

Ignis remembers the little boy from Niflheim, and the way his laugh had mingled with Prompto’s as they’d taken selfie after ridiculous selfie with Prompto’s camera.

He remembers the sound of Noctis’s voice, not the young boy he had once known, but the King, as he’d stood on the steps of the palace, smiling despite the destiny that he was about to knowingly fulfill.

_Post tenebras lux._

Ignis clears his throat gently. “Prompto?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“I thought it was traditional for one’s suitor to ask on a bent knee.”

This time, when Prompto laughs it’s with a breathless huff of surprise. 

Prompto gently takes the ring from Ignis’s fingers, and along with it, his hand. There is the sound of rustling as he, presumably, lowers himself to the ground.

“Ignis Scientia,” Prompto begins, still laughing a little around the edges of his words, “Are you going to marry me or what?”

In the east, the sun has begun to rise, throwing gentle beams of light across the city that Ignis can just barely discern in the slight lightening of his vision. The birds seem to chirp even louder, announcing the coming of the sun with a newfound frenzy.

Ignis smiles.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, feel free to come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://ronsenburg.tumblr.com), where I yell about promnis a lot.


End file.
